


On the Shores of this River

by omen1x2



Series: Wreck [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Always Female Dean, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omen1x2/pseuds/omen1x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely there had to be a limit to how many stupid things someone can do in one lifetime, right? Of course, Deanna technically already died, so maybe not.</p><p>Set during early season four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Shores of this River

Deanna had done a lot of stupid shit in her life.  


She remembered being twelve years old and the first time she and Sammy had ever gone to different schools. Dad had thought it would be no big deal (it _was_ no big deal) because her huge prison of a middle school was only a handful of blocks away from Sam’s elementary school, and she could walk there and pick him up, then head to their shitty duplex in their shitty neighborhood in their new shitty town while Dad was off taking care of a job. She’d been stupid, thought she might stop at the gas station at the corner just like the other kids did, maybe grab some candy for Sam. She’d been there longer than she thought, and by the time she made it to Sammy’s school, he was gone.  


She ran herself ragged all over that school, cursing the teachers and life and mostly herself because how could she be so _stupid_ , what the fuck was she thinking, Sammy was her responsibility and he was _gone_ , gone like Mom, like Dad would be when he found out she fucked up so badly, the one thing she was supposed to do, and fuck, if she didn’t find Sam she better fucking just throw herself off a roof because what else was she even good for?  


(Turned out Sammy had just gotten bored waiting for her and walked home on his own. He looked confused when she hugged him tight, but he was more than happy to take the candy she gave him. He just shrugged when she said she didn’t want any.)  


She remembered being fifteen and the food running out. Dad still wasn’t back, and she had no idea when he would be. She waited for Sammy to fall asleep, watched him toss and turn on the couch, uncomfortable and stomach growling, and hated herself because Sammy should never have to go to bed hungry. He shouldn’t ever have to know how shitty she was at this, shouldn’t ever have to worry that he might not be able to eat. She grabbed her hoody, dark and baggy and hopefully nondescript, and headed to the nearest grocery store, thinking she might steal some TV dinners, a few cans of soup, some candy bars, anything she could fit under her shirt and in her pockets and not be obvious.  


(The night clerk that caught her was large and hairy and she thought she might be able to take him down and make a run for it, but he said he would give her fifty bucks if she went in the back room with him and wouldn’t even care about the shit she was stealing. She threw up in an alley afterwards, but at least they had food.)  


She remembered the first time she picked up a woman, seventeen and drinking illegally in the dark corner of a bar. She could feel sweat breaking out on the back of her neck and her hands shook, and she thought this once, this _once_ maybe, but then John Winchester found her in the back seat of the Impala with her mouth on another woman’s breast and her fingers on her clit and he wouldn’t even look at her for months afterward.  


(It was worse when she was nineteen and he found her bent over with a man taking her from behind. John broke the guy’s arm and then later, that night, told her that she disgusted him.)  


She remembered falling in love with a gorgeous woman named Cassie after Sam left and she was so alone (always so alone). She daydreamed about taking Cassie on the road with her, no longer alone in the car with only her music for company, Cassie in the passenger seat and both of them laughing or talking or pulling over to make love in the back seat just because they could.  


(She told her when they were both breathless and sweaty in Cassie’s bed, not thinking _of course_. Cassie giggled at first, amused. The amusement didn’t last long.  


Motel beds felt really cold after that. Probably too much AC.)  


So yeah, Deanna’s done a lot of stupid shit.  


She doesn’t know why she’s so fucking surprised every fucking time.  


*****

“Hello, Deanna.”  


“Shit, _christ_ , Cas! Don’t do that!”  


“My apologies.”  


Dude, seriously, _what the freaking hell_?  


Deanna watched as Cas glanced around the motel room, eyes skating over where Deanna sat on the bed, using good ol’ elbow grease to try and get rid of an ugly blood stain from her favorite t-shirt, ignoring her completely, of course, to take in the rest of the room and ask, “Where’s Sam?”  


“Not here, obviously,” Deanna replied and shoved her still damp and bloody t-shirt over her head. Shit, dude. Maybe she should just start being one of those chicks that literally just never took off her clothes. They existed, right? Probably, if there were more people out there with stupid fucking guardian angels or whatever who just appeared out of nowhere without knocking or _anything_ to warn unsuspecting women that they were about to have company when they were shirtless.  


Castiel’s gaze returned to her and Deanna could feel her ears heat, which was fucking annoying. He probably didn’t even notice her stupid (wet, her mind supplied unhelpfully) t-shirt, and even if he did, absolutely none of this was her fault anyway.  


She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what’s up?”  


“Will Sam be returning soon?” Cas asked, _still fucking staring_.  


“Dunno. Don’t think so.” Deanna shrugged, trying to not think about the fight they’d had earlier in the evening. Like, what the fuck, Sam, she’d been taking care of herself _and_ him since before he could toddle, and he had to go and make a stupid stink about one lousy scratch. Whatever.  


She was forced out of her thoughts by Cas sitting down on the bed next to her, _way_ too close and _still. Fucking. Staring._ “Um.”  


“You are injured.”  


“Uh, yeah. Dude. I’m a hunter. It happens.”  


Castiel frowned. “It must be painful.” And then, without so much as a by-your-leave or whatever if this were a cheesy novel like Deanna never, ever read, he reached out and cupped her face.  


Deanna was about to register an official, “Dude, what the hell,” when the familiar lightning-rain-ocean tide of Cas’ Grace washed over her, closing the claw slash on her collarbone, mending her split lip, and, hell, she thought as she looked down, even getting rid of that damn stain from her damn shirt that she had been working on for ten solid minutes.  


“Huh,” she said, and scooted toward the far side of the bed, squeezing between it and the wall on her way to the bathroom to look in the mirror. She pulled her hair back to get a good look at her face and neck and said again, “Huh.”  


“You do not sound particularly appreciative of my help.” Deanna totally didn’t need to turn around to see the frown Cas was most certainly sporting.  


“Weirdly enough, Cas, I don’t really like it when people treat me like I’m some sort of porcelain doll,” Deanna replied, too tired to even be angry anymore. Cas wouldn’t get it anyway.  


“You are not a doll,” Cas growled, from _fuck_ right behind her, and Deanna whirled around.  


“Then why the hell is everyone fu-freaking treating me like one? I don’t see you helping Sam when he gets a boo boo, or Bobby when he has a concussion! Or, well, a hangover. No reason to treat me special that I can see, Cas, except that I’m weak little Dee, too precious and girly to be much use to anyone as she hurts herself playing with her knives and guns!”  


Deanna felt like she witnessed a full-blown miracle when Cas’ already epic frown managed to make it to even more epic proportions and then her thoughts derailed when he stepped _way_ into her personal space.  


“You _are_ special, Deanna, but it has nothing to do with your gender, or any weaknesses you believe you might have because of it. You are special because you are _you_ , and I wish to heal you when you are in pain because it is one of the few ways I can help you. You are not weak, or useless, and the only flaw I have ever perceived in you is a propensity to do too much yourself, and to refuse to let anyone help you.” Cas pressed a hand to Deanna’s shoulder and she really, really hoped he didn’t feel her shaking. “Just let me help you.”  


Deanna tried a grin and hoped it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “Aw, Cas. Didn’t know you cared.”  


Cas dropped his hand but didn’t move away. “Of course I do,” he said, brow furrowed in obvious confusion, as if he and his angel buddies weren't constantly acting like the dickless bastards they totally were.  


And Deanna had no idea how to break this staring contest they had going and she wondered, not for the first time, if Cas could read her thoughts or even just hear her heartbeat and how fast it was going, and fuck, she was still just in her shirt and shorts and Cas was still in that stupid suit and tie and trench coat and he had to be hot in that, right, like even for an angel it must be hot, and all she had to do was just reach up and push that coat off, that was it, nothing else really had to happen, and-  


The motel door opened and Sam’s ginormous frame on the trees he called legs walked in. “Hey, Dee, I’m really sorry about-” And then it was just awkward all around with Sam holding a small mountain of fast food and standing in the doorway, with Deanna and Cas in the bathroom staring back at him and standing way, way too close to each other and Cas _still wasn’t moving away_ , like what the fuck, and…  


“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said.

*****

“Um. Dee,” Sam began, fidgeting and whatever he was about to say was definitely something Deanna didn’t want to hear and he _damn well knew it_ because he only ever acted like that when he was about to Talk.  


Deanna dived into her shitty motel bed and covered her head with her pillow. “Going to bed now, Sammy! Good night!”  


Sam sighed. “Come on, Dee. We really need to talk about this.”  


“Dunno what you mean, Sammy, because I can’t think of anything that’s happened. At all. Ever.”  


“Just… um… Well. I mean. Nephilim are bad news.”  


Deanna moved her pillow because that was pretty damn vague, even for Sammy trying to find a way around her deep dislike of Talking and Words. “Dude. What?”  


“I read up on them, you know, and, uh, I just think… bad idea.”  


“You can start making sense any time, Sammy.”  


“You know, Nephilim.” Sam’s face was a pretty hilarious shade of red that Deanna was totally going to call him out on once she understood what the fuck he was saying. “The children of humans and, you know.” Obviously, no, she didn’t know. “Angels.”  


Deanna stared at him blankly for a minute, not getting it. And then, _oh_ , really, really getting it. “Dude, Sammy, what the _fuck_?!”  


“I’m just saying, Dee! You know, um-”  


“What?! ‘Practice safe sex’?! With _Cas_?!” No! Just… just no.  


It was, in fact, so no that she threw the comforter off and grabbed her jeans, shoving them up her legs.  


“Dee?”  


“I’m gonna go. Out. See you later, Sammy,” she said, snatching the Impala’s keys off the table and storming out of the room.

*****

It’s not like she never thought about it. Guy was hot. And treated her like-  


But no, definitely no. She never _thought_ -thought about it. Weird enough the guy thought she was worth his time, even if he sometimes acted like no, not really. (“I could throw you back in,” he’d said, as if it was nothing. “You should show me some respect,” he’d said, as if he fucking _deserved_ it, right, as if pulling her out of hell was some sort of all-access pass to getting Deanna Winchester to grovel at his feet. How about no. If he stopped acting like a prick then they’d talk, no matter how freaking scary he was. Besides, Deanna Winchester didn’t get scared.)  


Seriously, though. Dude was an angel. She was just some stupid bitch that had to sell her soul because she fucked up the one job she ever had, and then he had to pull her fat out of the fryer.  


Why would he ever even…  


Just no.  


She’d done some stupid shit, but there had to be a limit to even how stupid she could be, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my huge boner for canon always-a-girl!Dean, and how much I have wanted to just rewrite the entire series based off of that. Sadly, I do not have the patience to rewrite ten years' worth of television, so this will instead be a series, made up of a collection of short stories set throughout the show, some directly from episodes, some not. Perhaps think of it as an extremely in-depth analysis of how this show would change if everything remained the same, except Dean was a woman instead of a man.
> 
> Series name is from Megan McCormick's beautiful song Wreck (I Could Change).
> 
> If anyone is interested in discussing this with me, you can find me at my tumblr: [ominous-musings.tumblr.com](ominous-musings.tumblr.com) (Dead serious here, guys. If anyone's interested in discussing always-a-girl!Dean then I am so on board for it.)


End file.
